I think I’m in good company when I say that my life has unexpectedly become a time of tumultuous changes. This poem draws on two of my favorite Bible stories, the changing of water to wine (John 2:1-11) and the feeding of the five thousand (John 6:1-15*), for inspiration for courage to face the changes before me. These stories tell me that with God’s power, we can overcome our challenges, transitions, and uncertainty.

God bless,

*There are multiple accounts in the Gospels of the feeding of the five thousand; I chose the one from the Gospel of John.


At some point we all face
plain water 
      filling up jars at wedding beginnings.
Cool, simple, and familiar, it beckons
     us to leave well enough alone
     for now.
Too often we freeze in place where you
    moved into miracles, splashed into
rich red tomorrows. 

I am the boy with the five loaves
      and two fish who you met on your
journeys in the desert. 
I hold out my meager collection of
    courage and hope and ask that you
multiply these pieces
        until I have enough 
to feed a multitude. 

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Change by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.



Hello everyone,
The story of Nehemiah in the Bible is about a man dedicated to the work of God. His project was rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall and the Jewish culture there after it had been conquered by enemies. It was not a smooth ride, and at the end of the story, Nehemiah makes many prayers asking, “Remember me, O my God,” because he feels like no one else is, even after all his work (Nehemiah 13:14).
Though he did not get a resounding victory, Nehemiah stayed in step with God every day by telling Him his fears (“Remember me”), asking for His help, and doing his best in everything. However our own goals in life turn out, we can follow Nehemiah’s example and live a testimony like his in all we work for.
God bless,
Nehemiah 13:14 “Remember me, O my God, concerning this, and do not wipe out my good deeds that I have done for the house of my God and for his service.”

Weary hours crush
     your shoulders.
The foundation you dug
    for your dream is now
    another hole in your field of years
       like the backside of the moon:
                          a bit closer to the stars,
             but full of craters. 
You dug deep and sure,
   worked alongside friends,
   poured in your soul—
and watched
            greedy soil suck it dry.
You won’t dig again.
I join you, trembling tearfully to see
     you stare at another lost foundation.
You, the wise one, the encourager,
     the longest fighter. 
What did each hole bring you?
They are candles without enough wick,
     so bright and perfect, and then they run out.
I sit beside you at this latest hole.
         I have no words for the future; I am young and
         still imagine rainbows behind black clouds.
But in this moment, 
   from what I’ve seen so far,
I tell you this: 
Every shovelful you took
    showed me your passion,
    dedication, and daring.
Every new dream you worked for
    taught me I could work for mine.
Every bit deeper you went, 
     grace and tenacity and boundless faith
     dug lines into your hands, curling
        around calluses like calligraphy
            spelling out your love for creation.
I do not know if this field
     will hold the answers, 
but still,
     I pray you will dig again.


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Foundation by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.